


The Joy Run

by NeroKrohe



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Withdrawal, Gangs, Gen, Joy Boys - Freeform, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Road Trips, Slow To Update, Violence, ongoing, some references to Pointless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeroKrohe/pseuds/NeroKrohe
Summary: A trader on the West Olathian Coast is hired to assist a group of dangerous individuals recover a priceless piece of pre-Flash technology.
Kudos: 2





	1. Workplace Disgrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> This would ideally be a fan-game, but I lack the time and skills to make it. So instead, having it written as a fanfic will have to do.
> 
> (This chapter is set pre-Flash.)

March 16th 1995. 6:49PM.

Downtown Olathe, Avarice Tower. 20th floor.

The Bucha Fashion Company was a moderately-successful brand. In the 30 or so years it had existed, it had become known for its flashy yet practical line of clothing. If it was brightly-coloured, worth half the price of a titan like King and was made of extremely tough material, it was a Bucha product. Nobody would turn their nose up anything Bucha!

That was, until recently.

I was standing in the boss' office. His assistant told me he wanted to see me and that he was _really_ pissed off. I could practically hear him yelling from the other side of the floor. My co-workers gave me smug looks as I made my way to Mr Buchanan's office. They knew what it meant: I was either going to get demoted or fired. You'd think being the heir to the Bucha Fashion Company would mean I'd get some kind of leeway with my mistakes, but you'd be wrong. Dead wrong.

As soon as I opened the door, I could feel an intense wave of restrained anger in the air. He was staring out of the window, looking towards the Downtown skyline.

"Sit. Now."

His words were short and there was no emotion to his voice. I sat down in the crappy little chair and prepared myself. Whatever was about to happen would be intense.

"Do you know why I started this company?" he asked, back still turned to me.

"Because you...wanted to be the best?"

There was a moment of silence. After what felt like an hour he said "Yes. That's right. I wanted to be the best." Dad took a glimpse at his watch.

"I wanted to be the best, Max. I worked hard to make my place in the world. And it wasn't easy. I had to make my own clothes by hand and sell whatever designs I could wring out just to put food on the table. I got all the cash I could get hands on and put my own company together."

He turned to look at me at last. There was an unsettling calm.

It broke.

He took hold of my tie and yanked it forward. BAM! My head made fast, hard contact with the oak desk.

"I thought you were ready to make your family proud." BAM!

"I thought you could handle your job, Max." BAM! BAM!

"Instead?" He let go of me. I slowly lifted my head and leaned back in the chair. It was hard to see straight. Swirling lights, blurry figures. Then there was pain in my stomach. He refused to let me take a moment to recover.

"Instead...YOU FUCKED ME OVER!"

"D-Dad, I-"

"I trusted you with overseeing the Spring Collection! All you had to do was USE YOUR EYES AND PICK GOOD DESIGNS! HOW THE **FUCK** COULD YOU HAVE SCREWED IT UP?! WE ARE DIPPING INTO THE RED, MAXAMILLION BUCHANAN!"

"Da-"

"GET OUT! Don't you come home tonight. I can't stand to look at you right now!"

During his verbal onslaught, I had started to recover. I could see how truly angry he was. I could even see veins popping out of his head. Without another word I picked myself up and left. I headed back to my desk, picked up my belongings and eventually made my way to the stairway. Thankfully no sane person would dare climb 20 flights of stairs, so I had a moment of peace. In that moment, it had finally set in how fucked I was. Regardless of whether or not I had a job tomorrow, my dad hated me. God knows what he'd tell my mother.

All I could think to do was cry.

It feels like an eternity ago now. Sometimes that memory invades my dreams and I wake up sore again; a crippling headache and a sore gut. The only "good" thing to have come from it was a lesson in accountability. If you don't consider the outcomes of the choices you make, you'll end up hurt. Or worse.

Never has this lesson become more prevalent anywhere than what's left of Olathe.


	2. A Travel Summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in the past, but further along.
> 
> Some thoughts.

A few years after that mess of a dream, the world fell apart. Women stopped existing, time started to act differently throughout different parts of Olathe and society has effectively fallen to pieces. The first few "weeks" were the worst; so many men started to act like savages that the mass hysteria caught on and gangs started to pop up left and right. I got my shit together and drove around the rest of the country for some peace. I'm a businessman, not a mercenary!

I made stops along the way and got into some trading. Nobody uses money anymore, just porno mags. It was hard to re-price things with this new currency and stock was limited, but after a while I found ways to make it work and became a moderately-successful travelling merchant. I cruised through new and emerging settlements, through old city ruins, through deserts and wetlands... I'm just glad there's still a need for resources after the apocalypse! And eventually, I found a little place to settle down: Salt Cove.

Apparently, the border between Olathe and a place that isn't Olathe has blurred so much that...I guess the whole damn world can be called Olathe now! I only say that because Salt Cove is by the sea. Which I'm fairly sure wasn't geographically possible in the old Olathe. But I digress.

Salt Cove is a moderately-sized fishing town where the ground is covered in - you guessed it - salt. There's a marina with a few crews docked, a bar, a hotel, a marketplace and a little area of tents and cars where the merchants like to relax. We get a lot of prospective sailors and wanderers hoping to stay the night, perhaps willing to barter.

Honestly? Half the guys who work here clearly have no prior experience working in business. Every day I'm sandwiched between a clown who sells low-quality jerky for high-quality prices and a clown with such a cold attitude it turns away customers! How are these two still managing stalls, let alone bringing in profit? Unfortunately that answer stays with Maurice. Maurice is the guy who owns the bar in the centre of town. Some say he founded it, others that he strolled into town and replaced the founder after slitting his throat. I wouldn't put it past him to do that. Nobody screws him over and gets away with it. **Nobody.**

Overall, I would say life is fine! I'd say I'm now in my late 30s to early 40s, I'm living up to my family name in a place I don't hate, I look pretty good with my sunglasses and shades and I'd be happy to take my chances elsewhere if my little RV wasn't busted up. Or being overtaken by salt.

But seriously, why would I want to leave? I've got a pretty cushy gig going on and would be a sucker to go elsewhere.


	3. Ritual Dilapidated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to the beginning. For real.

It's another morning in Salt Cove.

The sun is shining, the ground is blinding, the scent of the sea fills my lungs. I start with my daily ritual: groan, get up from fold-up bed, apply sunglasses so that I can see, chow down on some brined fish (it's not like there's a limited amount of salt around here), drink some questionably-clean water to make my mouth taste less salty, slip on some pants and my prized leather jacket, grab my bag full of merchandise, grab my baseball bat in the event there's trouble and step out of the RV to face the day.

One of my neighbors sees me stepping outside and waves over to me. A young guy, came to this place not along ago with a bag full of clothes to sell.

"Mornin'!" He gave me a little smile, so I smiled and gave a little wave back.

"Morning" I said, "good luck today!"

"You too!"

Poor guy hasn't sold much as of late. There's been too few people coming here these days, save for sailors. Maurice is an understanding guy, but he has his limits. And I have a feeling clothes-guy won't be staying here much longer.

I make my way through the not-so-salty pathway and through the gate, and stop to admire the scene of boats docked. It's the same view every day, granted, but it's a little surreal how the sun is always in that same place. Plus it's still counted towards the daily ritual. After a time I keep going and eventually come to the beginning of the marketplace. There's some faces setting up shop already: Jared the jerky-clown, Gunther Molasses the treasure hunter, Sandy Aguana the repairman and (most fitting) Kevin the butcher. It's always fish, but he's definitely the best cook out of everyone here.

I set down in my stall and unpack my wares. There's a few Cocola Colas, some kitchen knives, a relatively-intact fishing rod and a jar full of lures. You gotta take what you can get, okay? Looking around at the other stalls being assembled it's pretty clear that people are starting to run out of things to sell. The sailors aren't bringing back as much loot as they used to, travellers are becoming increasingly sparse, merchants are deciding to pack up and move elsewhere... It's depressing. Salt Cove's death might be imminent. I turn to Jared with as neutral an expression I can muster.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this, Jared" I said.

He looked at me, sighing. "You're thinking of packing up, aren't you?"

"I'm starting to consider it! Salt Cove is struggling, man, and it's not because you overprice the jer-"

"Again with the jerky!" He snapped. "Look, Max. We have a fuck-ton of FISH. If I hike up jerky prices, then they'll t-"

" **WE** eat fish all the time! I'd love some jerky! But people will go to Gunther before they think of going to you!"

Jared slammed a fist down against the stall table. "It's always this same shit with you! You've got NO RIGHT to tell me how to run a business! I didn't need some degree to work at a mall, and I don't need one to sell fucking jerky!"

I let out an exasperated sigh. This was part of the daily ritual too. All of this.

This was all starting to drag on. All the nice stuff I said before about being in Salt Cove? It was starting to wear thin on me. I need something better in my life. No more stagnating, no more blindness, no more arguments with the same people on a daily basis. I decided right there and then that tomorrow morning, I would go talk to Maurice. I'd re-salt and refuel the RV and get out of town, and figure out what the hell was causing business to dry up. If I didn't, then... Maybe I'd end up so done with life I'd throw myself off the docks and become some kind of brined meal for whatever sea creatures there are. 

If this was my final day as a trader in Salt Cove, I was going to break the ritual. I took one of the Cocola Colas I was hoping to sell and broke the seal. The sounds of the sea breeze were broken by escaping air and fizzing liquid. I took a large sip and sighed with content. It was one of those moments where you close your eyes and let the sensation overcome you; for this sugary vessel of bliss, it was no exception.

Then, I heard someone clear their throat.

"If you're not on break" the voice said, "I would like to see your wares."

I opened my eyes. Two figures stood before me, one built like a wall standing tall and one more lithe and at my height. They were both clad in well-worn clothes, with their faces covered up. Covered by pink masks, bearing beady eyes and wide painted smiles.

Great. My last clients would be Joy Boys.


	4. A Joyless Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather unexpected guest.

Goddamn Joy Boys. Where do I begin with these people?

They're a mess of a gang! Sure, they're numerous and have a reputation, but it's always a bad one where they get too violent and sample their own product. That's not a great business model. But why the hell were there two of these guys in town? All I could do was put on a fake smile for them.

"Apologies, gentlemen! What are you in the market for?" I asked.

The smaller Joy Boy gestured to another stall and his muscular friend left to look around the town. He stood in silence, presumably staring at the stall table.

"Well..." he grabbed hold of one of the kitchen knives. I was instantly on edge.

"Sir, please refrain from to-"

"I'm just taking a close look," he said.

After what felt like five minutes of tracing his fingers across the blade and handle, he set it back down in its original position.

"It's a good blade. Think I'll take that and..." He pointed towards the Cocola colas. "...make that three colas."

"Alright! That'll be 60 mags, good sir!"

He reached into his pockets and slammed down 10. I lowered my sunglasses and looked at him skeptically.

"...You're a little light" I said in a flat tone.

"Your boss at the bar said we get free stuff."

I rolled my eyes. Maurice? Letting these guys have free reign over the town? That's nothing like him! "I'm not buying it. Either pay 60, or we're going to have problems."

"Problems?" His voice had a tinge of amusement. "Ask him yourself. I'll stay put, mister trader. Swear on the family mass grave."

Yeesh, bit morbid. I didn't trust him to not start any trouble while I was away, but I also didn't want to end up in deep shit. So, I obliged. And on my way to the bar I said to Jared "Keep an eye on this guy." Jared gave a little "Uh-huh", so I was sure he was paying attention. I stepped away from the stall and made my way to the main hub of the town: the Pickled Piper.

The Pickled Piper was a dimly-lit place. The furniture was relatively-clean, the floor was made of assorted stone slabs and the mood was set by a radio that had seen better days. And at the bar facing the doorway was Maurice: a chunky man with a well-defined mustache, a bow tie and a blunt manner of speaking.

Maurice let out a sigh as I stepped into the building. "For fuck sake, Max. The day just started."

"I had a question about some customers. They said you gave them a generous town discount?"

"The Joy Boys? Yeah. We made a deal. It'll work out well."

I couldn't believe it! Maurice made a deal with the Joy Boys?! Who knows what kind of problems that would cause! Our supplies and mags could be lifted from us! They could kill everyone! Or they'd bring their whole damn group to Salt Cove and uproot all the residents!

"Maurice! What the hell, man?!" I yelled. "They want to pay 10 mags f-"

"Let them have what they want, Max." He spat on the bar and started to wipe it across with a rag. "It's less trouble for us all."

"Do you e-"

Maurice shot me a dirty look as his voice became cold as ice. "Listen. To their. Demands."

I gulped. I had more to talk about to Maurice, but at this point in time it was best to leave him alone. Discussing my leaving might sour the mood even further right now.

"...Where the hell are the lures?" I asked Jared.

"I dunno" he said, reading through one of his mags. When I got back to the stall, the Joy Boy was gone along with the knife and colas, and my whole jar of fishing lures. He didn't touch the rod at all! Why would a drug dealer want fishing lures but no fishing rod? He didn't look like the type of person to have a hobby. But at least the 10 mags were still on the table.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Fantastic. Just...fantastic." I packed what remained of my stock into my rucksack - as well as the payment - and made my way around the stall with bat in hand. "See, this is the problem with this place, Jared. We barely get customers and the times we do, they're swindlers making deal with Maurice that fuck us over!"

"Don't know why you're so mad." He looked up from his magazine with a tired look. "You're leaving, aren't you? You don't have to deal with all this anymore."

"Those Joy Boys are going to do God knows what to this place and you're fine with that?!"

"If I say yes, will you fuck right off?"

I scowled at him. I slammed 1 mag on his stall and swiped a piece of jerky. 30 mags for a bog-standard piece of jerky is highway robbery. I walked back home to my trailer with inflated dry meat in my mouth and frustration in my soul. If today has been a big message from the Universe, it's clearly one that says "Get out while you can". To that I say "Gladly!"

The residential area was empty, save for the faint sounds of the sea. There wasn't a soul around.

I sat by the door of the RV, and took a deep breath. I took a moment to think. **The point of coming to Salt Cove was to live comfortably. To take control of your own life and thrive. And if dear old Dad was watching from the afterlife, he could kiss my ass. He was all talk. He beat his messages into me, sure, but when the madness began he was helpless. I admit, losing Mom was pretty bad and everyone processes grief in their own way. But him? There was no emotion or action. He lost himself. So much for being successful. All that bullshit, an-**

*THUD!*

I jolted. Something just bashed against the other side of the RV. I rose to my feet, gripped my bat tightly and went to investigate. It didn't matter who it was, I was not in the mood for anything. To my surprise, it was a Joy Boy; not the big one or the one who swindled me, but a new guy who was pale and gangly. He stood slumped against the side of my home. I tapped at the the door with my bat, trying to draw his attention to me or at least scare him off. No luck.

"Hey!" I yelled at the stranger. "Get off my property!"

The Joy Boy's head turned to look at me. He mumbled something.

"Speak up, or get out."

"...cking...arms can't..." This guy was being incoherent.

It might have been a bad idea, but I jabbed him in the arm with the end of the bat. "Speak up, or get out! Last warning!"

He lurched forward, arms hanging by his sides. There was a shine in one of his hands: a knife. And it looked a lot like the one his buddy had taken from me. This was bad. On one hand, I'm not the best at fighting people and could very well end up dead from this. But on the other, he looked weak and easy to knock out. It was an easy decision: I would swing at his chest, then run into the RV and lock all doors and windows.

I took a deep breath...

...and swung hard at his chest. There was an audible cracking sound as the wooden bat made contact with his ribcage. The Joy Boy dropped the knife and fell backwards. I was about to flee when I heard him make the most troubling sound. It sounded like he was choking. At first I was confused, but then looked on in disbelief as blood began to pour down the sides of his head and pool underneath. He was choking on blood. Fuck.

I stood there, both mesmerised and disturbed. I wanted to flee into the safety of my home but my body refused to move. I watched as the choking noises stopped. His chest wasn't moving, not even the broken mess where the bones had broken. I had just killed someone for the first time. It was self-defense, right? Like, he _was_ able to attack me in his condition, wasn't he? Unfortunately, there wasn't any time to think about it as I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

I turned to see the burly Joy Boy staring at me. He stood in silence.

I struggled to speak. What was I supposed to say? "Your friend threatened me"? "It was an accident"? "Piss off, you wide-grinned bastard"? I wasn't able to say anything as he pushed past me and grabbed the body. He slung it over his shoulder with ease and walked by me.

His parting words were a low and gruff "We won't forget this."

It's safe to say that I'm fucked.


	5. Some Sort of Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A questionable consequence.

I needed to calm down. I needed to be somewhere safe. That big guy totally saw me kill his friend and knew where I lived.

All I could think to do was hunker down in my RV. I locked the doors and windows, pulled down the blinds and lit a cigarette. I didn't care that I was stinking up the place, I needed to fucking relax! For all I knew, the big guy and the other Joy Boy would come knocking sometime soon and cave my skull in. One cigarette turned to two, then three, then before I knew it I had cleared out a whole pack. A cloud of foul smoke hung over my head.

**I shouldn't have packed up early. I should have stuck around and waited for the day to end. I should be getting drunk right now, celebrating my last day in this town. But instead, I'm hiding and hoping I don't get killed b-**

Someone pounded at the door. I curled up, back against my bed. Not a single sound. The pounding happened again.

"Max! You there?" The voice belonged to Maurice. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. I got up and unlocked the door, putting on a brave face before opening up. Maurice coughed as a visible waft of smoke blew in his face.

"Jesus, how much have you been smoking? Disgusting."

"Sorry" I said meekly, "I was...relaxing."

"Well I call it a dirty habit. Get out here, we need to talk." I climbed out and shut the door behind me. Instead of conversation, Maurice beckoned for me to follow him. As soon as we reached the gate to the residential area, he spoke.

"I hear you're leaving."

Oh great. I took a deep breath. "It's nothing personal, I jus-"

"Save it." He looked tired as he stared towards the sea. The sky was starting to get dark, as lanterns and candles illuminated the town. I guess I would be tired too if I was in charge of a whole town. Especially one so...rustic. "That's not why I wanted to talk. Though I suppose best wishes are in order."

"Thanks. So...why did you want to talk?"

He looked me in the eyes. "I've got someone at the Piper looking for some hired help. Said he's paying a pretty generous sum for it."

We stood outside the entrance to the Pickled Piper. I felt...anxious. It had been a long time since I had done any kind of interview. Hell, you'd think with how the world is there'd be no need for such things anymore! I looked to Maurice. "So he's in there?"

Maurice nodded. "Just you and him. The client wants this to be private."

I nodded, took a deep breath and pushed the door open into the bar.

It was dim inside. Even without my sunglasses it was hard to see anyone. As I looked around, someone to my right cleared their throat. There was a strike of a match, and a candle was lit. In the light sat the Joy Boy I did business with, staring right at me.

"Good to see you again" he said. There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I stood there, paralysed. Shit. My mind was rushing; was this some kind of ploy to get revenge? Genuine business? What? After what felt like an hour I let out a "O-o-one moment, p-please" and quickly got out of there. Maurice was leaning against the wall, frowning.

"That was quick" he said bluntly.

"You didn't tell me the client was a Joy Boy!" I exclaimed.

"Don't see what the problem is. A client's a client."

I pulled him closer, whispering to him. "The problem is I killed one of his friends earlier!"

He stood there, expression unchanging. He simply gave me a shrug.

"That's a you problem, Max." He picked me up by the shoulders and placed me directly in front of the door. "Now go in there, and don't you think about leaving until this deal's done."

"But-"

Before I could make an argument, Maurice shoved me inside. He was physically blocking me from getting out. The Joy Boy had set his mask on the counter. He looked gaunt, with a hick mass of hair covering one eye.

"Are you going to sit down?" asked the Joy Boy. 

I gulped and hesitantly made my way towards him. I pulled up a stool and sat nearby - I didn't want to be within stabbing distance.

"So...uh, good to see you as well?" I said hesitantly.

He scoffed. "Let's cut the shit. I know you killed Mark."

Oh boy. This was starting off well.

"Look, your friend was on my property and-"

"He was going through withdrawal, pal. I doubt he could have done anything to you." He didn't sound too emotional about it, considering how he was pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "I asked him to look around and keep out of trouble."

Okay. Yikes. I felt even worse about it. I was struggling to come up with something to say.

"Usually, I would pump guys like you full of lead. You fuck with my guys, I fuck with you back." He pulled out a pistol and slammed it against the counter, giving me a sly smile. "It's only fair, don't you agree?"

Oh fuck. I was looking pretty shaken by this predicament. Hell, I don't think I could say anything to get out of this.

The Joy Boy downed his glass in one fell swoop. "Ohhh yeah, that's good." He turned to me, sliding his mask towards me. "However. My friend Gavin...convinced me to be more lenient. I'll forgive you. But on one condition."

I let out a sigh of relief. Thank God, a Joy Boy with some humanity? That was rare. I was so ecstatic to be spared that I said "Yeah yeah, I'm down for whatever it is!"

He smiled. "That's good. You want to go over thi-"

"Yeah yeah, sure, whatever!"

He looked at me, confused for a moment but then chuckled. "I see how it is. Alright, get out. I'll see you in the morning."

I pushed past Maurice and made my way back to my RV, happy. I got to live another day! Come tomorrow, I'll be on the road to who knows where. A free man, once again! Though...I wonder what that Joy Boy's condition was? I should have asked in hindsight. But at that moment I couldn't care less!


	6. The Day After The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Specifics are finally given.

I awoke to the sound of someone pounding at the door. I let out a groan as I rolled out of bed unceremoniously.

"I'll be with you in a minute" I called out, putting on my sunglasses and reaching towards the table for some water. It tasted...gritty. Yeah, there was some sand in this bottle. I spat it out. I searched my kitchen for food, because like a dumbass I didn't go to the docks last night to get some fish. There was some jerky in one of the drawers. No idea how old, but it was a challenge to bite into it. The pounding continued.

Pants were on, and before I could make another response the door that was being knocked on suddenly swung open with force. I fell back in shock.

"What the hell?!" I exclaimed.

Then, the people responsible for the rude awakening barged in: the Joy Boys from yesterday. The smaller one gave me a wave, while the big one - I think his name was Gavin? - settled into the driver seat. What the hell were they doing here?

"Morning, sunshine" the small one said enthusiastically. "We've got a busy day ahead of us."

I got up, both confused and angry. "What the hell are you two doing here?! I thought we had no problems!"

He tutted. "Oh, of course there aren't any problems! We're here because of the deal last night. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Um..." Hm. Shit. I guess I was too happy being glad to be intact to hear what I was agreeing to do in return. "Of...course not! But did you really have to barge in? Hell, I'm surprised the door's still intact."

"You'd be surprised at what we got up to while you were out cold." He nodded his head to the door. Curious about what he meant, I got out and noticed something startling: the RV looked functional and relatively salt-free. Did these two guys seriously fix up my RV while I was asleep? Before I could step back inside, the engine roared to life for the first time in years. Thinking they were going to take off without me, I jumped back in.

"We're ready to go" Gavin said to his friend as he took a moment to familiarise himself with the driver's seat.

As I was about to ask what we were doing, the RV shook as it started to move. I was finally on the move with no idea what to expect.

The Joy Boy sat at the table, admiring the landscape of the Salmon Coast. It was essentially the same as Salt Cove, except there were juts of rock and salt around the road that clashed against the steely blue of the sea. He set his mask down to reveal the same gaunt face from the night before and took a deep breath. He smiled a little bit, maybe because the smell of salt wasn't so strong in here. He turned to me, face suddenly becoming serious.

"Alright. First of all, you can call me Bates" he said, extending his hand.

I begrudgingly shook it. Couldn't do anything else, seeing as I was essentially a hostage in my own home. "Max Buchanan. Now uh, what was this deal I signed up for?"

Bates regained his smile as he stood up. He went over to his rucksack and pulled out two things: a map and a weird sketch of something on an official-looking document. "Tell me, Max. What do you know about Joy?"

"They're blue, and they make you go numb." I paused. "...So I've heard. I don't touch the stuff."

"Fair enough." He pointed towards a far-off corner of the map, to what looked like a mountain range. "Before things went south, there used to be a factory right where my finger is. It churned out an early batch of Joy, but apparently due to health and safety they had to shut the place down."

I nodded. That sounded about right.

"Now. One of our new Joy factories has a problem: one veeeeery specific piece of equipment got damaged. Meaning we can't meet the public's demand."

"...You're not saying-"

Bates nodded as he slid towards me the weird sketch. "I'm saying we're going to get a replacement part. This one, to be exact."

**Well this is fucking great! I'm a salesman, not a scavenger! Why do they need me for this?! Actually, why _do_ they need me for this?**

"Why do you need me?" I asked. "I mean...you have the wheels, and clearly a place to go, so..."

He shrugged. "It's a three-man job, Max. There's gonna be trouble on the road and we'd only fail if it was just me and Gavin." He leaned forward, shooting me a dirty look. "Plus, you did kill one of my guys" he said with venom. "An eye for an eye, alright?"

I gulped. He totally wasn't over it. "I...I hear you loud and clear, Bates."

He turned his gaze back to the window without another word. We both sat there in silence as the terrain became more jagged-looking. And of course Gavin was his usual chatty self throughout the drive. I'm not sure what I'm going to expect on this job, but I get the feeling however much I'm being paid - if at all - is worth all of this.


End file.
